


Surprises

by alutiv



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Greg Has a Hobby, M/M, Three-Flat Problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:32:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alutiv/pseuds/alutiv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Greg can surprise Mycroft, much to his own surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Gregory, what are you wearing on your feet?”

The unexpected voice nearly startled Greg out of the chair. Mycroft had slipped into the sitting room, apparently finished with his very important phone call.

“Socks.” He wiggled his toes within the swirls of bright green, blue, and yellow.

Mycroft trailed an index finger over the top of Greg’s foot, then stroked the arch with his thumb.

Greg twitched away. “Tickles.”

Withdrawing, Mycroft said, “They’re handmade.” Meeting Greg’s eyes, he added, “By you.”

“Yes.”

“You knit.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Greg chuckled. “You can’t tell me?”

Mycroft gave him a _look_.

“It’s relaxing.” Greg shrugged. “Keeps my hands busy. Healthier habit than cigarettes.”

“Indeed,” Mycroft agreed. “The colours are… striking.”

Greg grinned. “Got the yarn at a shop in Germany I found on a mini-break years ago with….” He waved away the thought of his ex-wife.

“Never mind.”

Mycroft hummed. “A mini-break,” he mused. “I haven’t had one of those in—“

“Ever?” Greg supplied.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “I may not knit, but do you really imagine that I never relax?”

“No, I have good evidence that you occasionally relax.” Greg smirked. “In fact, you look like you could do with some relaxation right about now.” Swinging his feet to the floor, he reached for Mycroft’s hand.

“Proposing to teach me to knit?”

“Maybe after.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Gregory, what are you doing?”

Knelt on the hardwood floor, one arm stretched under the bed, Greg twisted toward the sound. He caught just a glimpse of Mycroft entering the room before turning back. “Looking for something,” he grunted, fingers finally grasping the plastic storage box.

“I can see that.”

Greg slid the box out, opened it, and pawed gently through the mound of brightly coloured yarn. He set aside two skeins, closed up the box, and shoved it back under the bed before looking up.

Mycroft tilted his head. “You store yarn under our bed?”

“Yes,” said Greg, brushing at the knees of his trousers as he stood, even though there was never any dust anywhere in Mycroft’s - their, he corrected - home, even under furniture. “Among other places.”

Mycroft’s gaze swept over him, and Greg sighed.

“A patrol car boot? Really?”

“Not for a while, actually, and I thought we agreed you wouldn’t do the mind reading thing on me anymore.”

“Apologies. Old habits.”

An abashed Mycroft was rare indeed. Greg quickly crossed the room and embraced him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I know,” he whispered.

Mycroft eyed the yarn now spilling over his shoulder. “New pair of socks?”

“Yes.” Greg stepped back, holding both skeins out for consideration. “Now, what do you think: red or blue?”


	3. Chapter 3

“Gregory, what are you—”

The midnight quiet broken by the sleep-garbled question, Greg jumped away from Mycroft’s foot as if burned. The pen torch he’d had clamped between his teeth clattered on the hardwood floor, and the measuring tape reeled in toward his palm with a _zzzzzip_.

Pushing the duvet aside, Mycroft sat up, blinking and squinting.

Sat on the floor, groping for the torch he hoped wasn’t broken, Greg couldn’t help smiling at the disheveled pinstriped pyjamas. The sight of eternally pristine Mycroft sleep-rumpled and unkempt was a singular pleasure, one he was still cautious about taking for granted.

“Gregory? Are you all right?”

Greg sighed. “I’m fine. I was just—“

“Measuring my foot?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Might I ask why?”

“You don’t need to. You already know.”

“Come back to bed.” Mycroft didn’t actually say, _Don’t pout_ , but Greg heard it all the same.

“Just how long have you known I was planning to knit you socks for your birthday?”

Mycroft patted the mattress. “Please?”

Greg crawled up the bed, leaving the missing torch for the morning. “I just wanted to surprise you,” he said, “for once.”

Mycroft kissed him, then sat back, eyes wide and intense. “You surprise me every single day.”

“Liar.”

“When necessary,” Mycroft allowed. “But not in this.”

“Special, am I?”

“Gregory,” Mycroft sighed, “of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks (as ever) to LapOtter and corpsereviver2 for the "Three-Flat Problem" format.
> 
> Greg-is-Secretly-a-Knitter (and hides yarn in the boot of a patrol car, and visits a certain German yarn store) headcanon inspired by the Consulting Writers of Ravelry's 221B group (shout-out to Prurient_curiosity!). See what you made me do?


End file.
